


Taking care

by kate_the_reader



Series: Bob [12]
Category: RocknRolla (2008)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 10:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17058170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kate_the_reader/pseuds/kate_the_reader
Summary: Dave gets hurt. Bob copes. Sort of.





	Taking care

**Author's Note:**

> Ages ago, a reader suggested Bob helping Dave deal with something, and this is that story, finally.

He’s driving a family to the airport when his mobile buzzes in his pocket. After he’s helped them offload their bags, he pulls it out to look.

It’s Dave: _“I slipped off a ladder. At Central Middlesex A &E. Don’t panic it’s not that bad.”_

But how can he not panic? 

The car behind him hoots to get him to shift out of the drop-off zone. He knows he shouldn’t while he’s driving, but he rings Dave.

“Hello, love.”

“Are you okay?” He’s got the phone held against his shoulder and he’s trying to get on the motorway. “Dave? I’m at the airport but I’ll be there as soon as I can.” His voice sounds high and scared in his ears.

“I’m fine, love, really. I banged my elbow hard.”

“But you’re at the hospital!”

Dave sort-of laughs. “Well, I banged it really hard. It might be broken.” Then he says: “Are you driving?”

“Yeah, I had to get out of the drop-off.”

“Bob! Concentrate on the traffic, love. I’ll be here for hours, I’m still waiting for an x-ray.”

“Okay, I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“Alright. If you can. I’ll be fine.”

“Bye.”

“Bye, love.”

As he lets the phone drop into his lap, the dispatch radio crackles: “You still at Heathrow, Bob?” says his boss, Terry.

He pushes the button to talk: “I just left. Can I get off? Dave’s at A&E.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. Can you get back there though? Everyone else is miles away and Mr Ali just rang.”

Mr Ali is one of their biggest clients, always going to the airport and being fetched. He’s tempted to say: why can’t he just take a black taxi? But of course he can’t. 

“Okay, I’m near exit 10, I can turn around.”

“Thanks, Bob. I wish I could let you go, but it’s Mr Ali.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“But you can go after you drop him. Take the car.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Driving a cab isn’t all that different to being told to go on an errand for Archy and not being told why, sometimes. 

Mr Ali is standing at the kerb talking on his phone when Bob pulls up and gets out. He nods to Bob and hands him his bag and gets into the car, still on the phone. They’re back on the motorway when he finally hangs up.

“How’re you, Bob?”

“Yeah, fine, thanks. How was your flight?”

“Tedious.”

Bob can't imagine a flight being tedious, but he's only been on two. Mr Ali opens his laptop, sparing Bob from small talk, so he can focus on the traffic. And worry about Dave. He's up ladders all the time, fitting cupboards and that; he doesn't make his lads do all the work. “Keeps me fit,” he says. “I like it.”

In the One Two days they were always doing mad, dangerous stuff, crazy stupid things for men who didn't give a shit if they got hurt. He'd been lucky, nothing all that serious. He broke his arm when he was a little kid, when a bigger lad pushed him off a swing. Bob’s mum had marched down to the boy’s home and given his mum hell. She’d let Bob stay in and watch telly in the afternoons for a few days. He'd drawn a rocket on his plaster cast with a felt-tip. 

But surely it’s different, breaking your arm when you’re older. 

He doesn’t really think about Dave being older, all that often. Well, that’s not true. He likes the fact that Dave is calm, that he knows things, that he’s done things Bob hasn’t. There have been a lot of things since he and Dave got together that he doesn’t think he would have done on his own. Walking away from his criminal life for a start. He’d still be hanging around with One Two and Mumbles, if he hadn’t been killed.

And anyway, Dave isn’t old or anything — he’s well fit and strong and Bob’s stomach clenches and his cock twitches when he thinks about Dave’s body.

Finally, he’s threaded his way through the traffic and pulled up in the driveway at Mr Ali’s big house in Holland Park. Bob gets out to give him his bag. Mr Ali pays and tips him as generously as ever. “Thanks, Bob. See you next time,” he says, and goes inside. 

Bob doesn’t pull straight out. Traffic is madness at this time of day and Dave must be wondering what’s happened to him. He rings, but Dave doesn’t answer. A bubble of panic wells up, but then he remembers the x-ray. He sends a text: _“I had to go back and fetch Mr Ali. I’m in Holland Park. I’m coming now.”_ He presses send and puts his mobile in his pocket; he’s about to start the car when he pulls it out again and sends another text: _“I love you.”_

It takes him bloody ages to get all the way back across and then he can’t find the hospital’s A&E entrance. When he finally does, he has to take a minute to calm down before he can go up to the desk and ask. “I’m looking for Dave Parker. I think he’s got a broken arm.”

“Hang on,” says the guy at the computer, “I’ll check.” He clicks away. “Parker … Parker. Yeah, he went to x-ray. You can wait over there.”

“Can’t I go ….”

“No. Just have a seat.”

“Do you know—?” How long it’ll be? he wants to ask, but the guy has turned away to the next person. He goes to the row of chairs and sits down. He wonders if Butch will be okay, stuck inside longer than usual. He might have to clean up after him when they get home.

There’s a woman next to him having a loud argument on the phone while holding a sniffling toddler. Bob closes his eyes. He wishes he knew how badly Dave is hurt. He zones out and lets the babble of the waiting room wash over him, until his ringing mobile buzzing against his thigh jolts him. He pulls it out — Dave.

“Thank god! Where are you? Are you okay? Can I take you home now?”

“I’m okay, love. I’m being admitted—”

“Admitted? Why? What’s wrong?”

“I need an op to pin my arm—”

“An op?” He realises how loudly he’s talking when the old man opposite gives him a look. He stands up to walk out to somewhere more private.

“It’s okay, love, shhh, I’ll be fine.”

Bob closes his eyes against the tears pricking there.

“Can I come see you?”

“Not now. At visiting time. That’s soon. Can you bring me some things? And poor Butch is stuck inside. Go home, love, and come back in a bit.”

The breath Bob’s been holding shudders out of him. “Okay. I’ve got to take the car back too, I suppose. Terry let me come straight here after Mr Ali.”

“Alright, love. You can come between seven and eight.”

He suddenly notices Dave’s voice is slurring. “How bad is it?”

Again, Dave sort-of laughs. “It’s bad. Doesn’t hurt anymore though. They gave me a pretty strong painkiller. I see you in a bit, love.”

“Yeah. Soon. Bye.” Dave hasn’t ended the call yet. “I love you,” Bob says, soft. It’s still not something he says out loud, all that often.

“I know, love. Love you too.”

It’s a new feeling, worrying about Dave.

\-----

Butch is standing in the hall when he finally gets home. He knows better now than to try to slip out, but Bob clips on his lead straightaway. “Are you desperate, mate? Yeah, I bet you are.” As soon as they get onto the pavement, Butch pees in the gutter. When he looks up at Bob he seems relieved. He tilts his head as if he’s asking a question, his crazy ear flopped over.

“You’re wondering where Dave is, aren’t you? He’s hurt. He’s not coming home tonight.” They’ve started to walk down the street and Butch is snuffling at the base of each tree they pass. “I don’t know how bad it is. I haven’t seen him. I’m going soon.” Butch isn’t listening, of course, but it feels better to tell someone. There’s no time for a long walk, he has to get Dave’s things.

Back at home, he gives Butch fresh water and food and goes upstairs. Dave didn’t say what he needs, but something to sleep in and his toothbrush, he supposes. He’s probably in one of those horrible gowns, or still in his work clothes. Bob gets out a t-shirt and a pair of boxers, clean underpants. He goes into the bathroom to get Dave’s toothbrush and the toothpaste. He fetches a facecloth from the airing cupboard. It’s a green one. They used it to clean up the last time they had sex. That makes him smile, he wonders if Dave will think the same thing. As he’s packing all the things into a bag, Butch comes up the stairs. One of his beds is next to theirs, but he doesn’t lie down in it, he comes over and pushes his nose into Bob’s hand. Bob sits down on the bed, on Dave’s side, and scratches behind Butch’s ears and leans down and kisses the dog on the top of his head. Butch tips his head back and licks Bob’s face. 

“Thanks, mate. I have to go now.” He picks up the bag; Butch follows him to the top of the stairs. 

The hospital parking lot is jammed. Dave didn’t say what ward he’s in, so he asks at the desk. When he gets there, the ward is full of visitors. He doesn’t see Dave at first, but he’s in the bed by the window. He opens his eyes when Bob touches his shoulder.

“Hello, love.” His voice is soft and sort of blurry. Bob badly wants to kiss him. So he leans down and does, just quick.

Dave’s right arm is bandaged from the shoulder to the wrist around a stiff board.

“That looks terrible! I still can’t understand what happened, though.” 

“Sit down and I’ll tell you.” He sits on the chair by the bed and leans his elbows on the mattress. Dave reaches for his hand and gives it a squeeze.

“I was coming down off a ladder and their cat walked behind my feet and put me off balance and when I fell, I banged my elbow really hard on the worktop. Granite worktop.” Bob’s stomach clenches in sympathy with how much that must have hurt and he screws up his face. Dave huffs a laugh. “Yeah, it did bloody hurt!”

“How did you know it was broken?”

“Well, I couldn’t straighten it, so Gavin brought me here. The worst was when they straightened it to take the x-ray!” That makes Bob fell a bit sick to just think about.

“And now you have to have an op.?”

“Yes, to put a metal pin in it. Tomorrow morning, and then I can go home.”

“I’ll come to get you. I already asked Terry if I can take time off and he said yes.”

“That was nice of him.” 

“I brought you some things like you asked. I didn’t know what you needed. I brought you some stuff to sleep in. And your toothbrush and a flannel. Do you want to get changed? I can help you.” Bob feels like he’s talking too fast for half-out-of-it Dave, but he’s covering up the fact that he just wants to get on the bed with him and he can’t and he hates seeing him here and he feels bad because Dave’s the one in hospital waiting to have an operation and Bob’s the one not coping very well.

“It’s okay, Bob.” Dave lets go of his hand and rubs over the back of his head. He can always tell. “Thanks for the things. I’ll just stay in this gown, but some boxers would be nice so I don’t have to flash my arse. Just pull the curtain round and I can put them on.”

So Bob does. He pulls back the covers and Dave swings his legs over the side of the bed and he can’t help it, he pushes up between Dave’s knees and kisses him properly. He can feel Dave smiling against his mouth. He slips his arms around Bob’s waist. 

“Fuck, Dave,” he whispers, pulling back a bit.

“I’m really okay, love,” says Dave. Bob didn’t even need to say out loud how worried he is. He bends down to get the boxers out of the bag and slips them over Dave’s feet and up his legs. Dave stands up to finish putting them on, wincing when his arm hangs down, and pulling them up one-handed. “I’m going to be a bit useless for a while,” he says.

“I’ll look after you.”

“I know you will, love.”

A chime sounds in the corridor and a voice on a tannoy says: “Visiting time ends in five minutes.”

“When can I come tomorrow?”

“I’ll ring you. Probably the afternoon. I think the op’s quite early in the morning.” Dave is sitting on the bed again. Bob bends down and kisses him.

Another chime sounds. “Visiting time is over, please leave the wards.” He doesn't want to go.

“I’ll be home before you know it, love.”

“I know. Well, good night, I suppose.” He’s got his hand on the curtain ready to push it open when he says: “I’ve never slept in our bed without you.”

“Yes. I haven’t either, since you came. It’s only one night, though. We’ll be okay. Butch will keep you company.” Dave smiles. “Don’t think I didn’t know you’d let him on the bed.”

“Yeah, I’m not the only one, though.” It feels better to walk out smiling. “Good night. I hope you can sleep here. I hope the op’s okay. I’ll come and get you.” He can’t resist one last kiss. “I love you,” he says against Dave’s mouth before he straightens up. He’s never said it so much, but he feels like he needs to. 

\-----

Butch is in the hall again when he gets home. “He’ll be alright, I think,” he tells the dog. “He’ll be home tomorrow.”

It’s not late, but he doesn’t really know what to do with himself. He realises he hasn’t had anything to eat since breakfast, he just forgot. He likes cooking with Dave, or on his own when he’s home first, but there doesn’t seem to be all that much point, alone. He makes a sandwich and eats it sitting on the sofa in front of the telly. Butch climbs up next to him and curls in a tight ball against his legs with a sigh; he drops his hand to his head and plays with his soft ears and wonders if Dave’s asleep already. When the programme finishes he gets up. “Come on, mate, last walk.” Butch follows him to the hall and stands while he clips on the lead and they walk round the block together through the fine drizzle that’s started up. 

Once he’s showered he crawls into their bed, on Dave’s side, and it does feel weird. Too big. He’s sort of embarrassed he feels like this. He slept on his own his whole life, until this bed. Until Dave said, one Tuesday night: “Stay. Won’t you stay?” and it feels like he stayed and never left. He turns his face into the pillow, to smell Dave there, but all it really smells like is clean laundry. That makes him smile.

Butch has settled in his bed, but Bob pats the duvet. “Want to sleep up here?” Butch jumps on the bed and curls up next to Bob. He sticks his cool nose right up in Bob’s face and licks him. “Thanks, mate.” He falls asleep with his hand on the dog’s flank, feeling his breaths. As Dave knew he would.

\-----

He wakes up when it’s still grey outside. Normally Dave has to wake him — he comes into the room with a cup of tea and kisses Bob and says “Morning, love” and the day begins right. But this morning he wakes in an empty bed in a quiet house. He can hear Butch walking around downstairs, so he gets up and goes down. Butch is standing in the middle of the living room, his head cocked to the side, as if he’s wondering where Dave is. Usually, Dave’d be standing at the counter waiting for the kettle to boil. “He’s not here, remember?” Bob tells him, and opens the terrace door so he can go outside for a sniff. He fills the kettle and slices bread and stands there in the too-quiet kitchen and wonders if Dave has gone in for his op yet, if he’s unconscious. He doesn’t want to think about the rest of it. 

He’s eating toast standing at the counter when his mobile rings. It’s Moira.

“Hello, Bob. Are you alright?”

“Hello, yes I’m okay.

“That’s good, love. How was he? You went to see him, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, course. He was okay. A bit out of it on painkillers. His arm was in like a splint. He said it didn’t really hurt anymore.”

“How’d it happen? He didn’t explain properly.

“He tripped over their cat! And hit his elbow really hard on the worktop and then he couldn’t straighten it so he went to A&E.”

“For heaven’s sake, what a silly accident!”

“Yeah. He said they’ll let him come home this afternoon. I hope so. It doesn’t feel right here without him, you know?”

“Yes, I imagine. You’ll be okay though. You’ll look after him.”

She’s a bit like Dave, how she understands more than you tell her. 

“Yes. Do your mum and dad know what happened?”

“Well, I thought I’d wait to find out properly before I worried them. I’ll ring them in a bit. Now I better get on. I just wanted to find out how you were.”

“Thank you. Tell your mum and dad I said hello when you talk to them. I’m sure Dave’ll ring them as soon as he can.”

“I’m sure he will. Bye then, Bob.”

“Yeah, bye. Thanks for ringing.”

Moira was worried about him, not just about her brother. The thought makes his chest hurt a bit, in a good way.

After he’s finished his toast and tea he puts the plate and mug in the sink with his plate from last night and goes back upstairs. He just has to make the bed and that doesn’t take long; then he’s left with nothing to get the time to pass faster while he waits for Dave. It’s not actually raining so he goes down and calls Butch. “Let’s go for a run, would you like that, mate?” Butch gives him a goofy grin, silly ear flopped over. “Yes, of course you would.” He puts on his trainers and pulls on his jacket, making sure he has a dogshit bag in the pocket. Butch stands still while he puts on his plaid coat and clips on the lead. “We’ll go to Gunnersbury, eh? Better place to run.”

The park isn’t busy on this chilly weekday morning and they run, Butch loping easily at his side, until he’s breathing hard and sweating under his jacket. “I can’t run anymore,” he tells Butch and sits down on a bench to catch his breath. He’s fitter now than he was before they had Butch, before he left One Two and Mumbles, when the only running he did was to get away from some stupid situation. He still goes to the gym to work out on the machines, keep trim, otherwise he’s just be sitting on his arse all day. Not like Dave, keeping fit by working, climbing up ladders, lifting heavy stuff. He won’t be able to do any of that for a while now, though. He pulls out his mobile to look at the time; it’s not even lunchtime. “Come on, we better go home,” he tells Butch.

While he’s driving, he has an idea and back home he checks the cupboards. There isn’t any flour and they’ve run out of a few other things, so he leaves Butch curled up in his basket next to the sofa and goes to the supermarket. After he’s packed the groceries away he fries some eggs for lunch. He’s trying not to worry and wonder about when Dave will phone to say he can come home. As he’s washing up the pan and his three plates and mugs, his mobile rings. Dave, at last.

“Hello, are you okay? How was the op? Can you come home?”

“Hello, love. I’m alright.” Dave sounds tired. “I can come home now. Will you bring me clean clothes?”

He should have thought of that last night, of course Dave doesn’t want to get back into dirty work clothes. “Of course! Sorry, I should have. Will they let me in?”

“It’ll be visiting soon. At three, I think.” Dave sounds vague, his voice fading.

“Okay, see you soon,” Bob says. “Goodbye.”

“Bye, love.”

He goes upstairs to get Dave’s clothes, stuffs them into his own gym bag. He gets to the hospital just before three and he knows where the ward is now, so he’s waiting when they open the doors. Dave’s got his eyes closed when Bob walks up to his bed. He touches his shoulder, bends down and kisses him. “Hello,” he says, “Dave?”

Dave opens his eyes and smiles at Bob. “Hello, love.” 

The covers are pulled up high, so Bob can’t see Dave’s arm. “Do you want to get dressed now? And go home? Can I help? Does it hurt?”

“Not that much. Yes, let’s go home.” Dave sits up, wincing a bit. His arm is bandaged, bent at the elbow. That might make getting dressed a bit difficult. Thank goodness he brought a shirt with buttons. 

“You’ll have to help, at least till I get the hang of it,” says Dave. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands up, but staggers slightly. “Oof, my head’s a bit swimmy from lying down.” 

Bob catches him with an arm around his waist. The murmur of conversation at the next bed stops. He looks over his shoulder. The woman standing there gives him a funny look, and turns away when Bob catches her eye; he reaches for the curtain. When they’re in semi-private, he puts his other arm round Dave, careful of his bandaged arm, and leans his head against Dave’s shoulder. “Let’s go home,” he says.

It's a bit difficult, getting Dave's shirt on. He doesn't complain, but Bob can see he's gritting his teeth. He sits back on the bed when they've finished that. Bob gets his jeans out and crouches down to slip them over his feet. 

“You shouldn't have to do that,” Dave says.

“Why not? I don't mind. You've only got one hand.”

Dave rests that hand on Bob's head. “Thank you, love.”

Bob pulls the jeans up his legs, but when Dave goes to stand up, he says: “Just let me do your shoes first.” And puts Dave's socks and trainers on. He stands up. “There,” he says, and Dave slips off the bed so they can finish pulling up his jeans. Bob grins at him as he does up his fly. Normally he'd be undoing it.

A nurse pops her head round the curtain. “Alright, Mr Parker? Oh, I see you’ve got help. Is this your … ?”

“Boyfriend,” says Dave. 

“Oh, yes,” she says, smiling at them. “Here's your sling.” She hands it to Bob. “You can help him put it on, love.” In her mouth it's just an everyday word, with none of the meaning it has when Dave says it. She goes away and Bob puts the sling on.

Dave sits back on the bed. He doesn’t look so good. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t feel that great,” he says. “Bit sick, actually. I’ll be okay, though, once we’re home.” 

Bob can see him swallow hard. “Are you going to puke? Do you need me to call the nurse?”

Dave shakes his head and takes a deep breath. “No, I’d rather just go home.”

Bob pulls the bag he brought last night out of the locker and stuffs Dave’s things into it — the work clothes he came in with, his boots, and the things Bob brought.

The chime sounds in the hallway and the tannoy announces that visiting is almost over. The nurse sticks her head round the curtain again. “All ready, Mr Parker? Will there be someone at home with you?”

“I’ll be there,” says Bob, a bit peeved that she didn’t understand what Dave said.

“Oh yes, of course. Here’s the script the doctor left, for some painkillers. You can get them from the pharmacy on the ground floor.” 

Bob takes the script and stuffs it into his pocket; he wants a hand free in case Dave needs it. But Dave seems okay as they walk down the corridor and wait for the lift with people leaving after visiting.

There’s a queue at the pharmacy and traffic is horrible. By the time they get home, Dave is pale and sweaty.

“Hello, Butch.” He greets the dog who’s waiting at the door, but doesn’t stop to pet him. He goes straight upstairs to the bathroom, and Bob hears him throwing up. He stands outside the door wondering if Dave would rather he went in or not.

The toilet flushes. “Dave?”

Dave comes out onto the landing. “I thought I’d avoided it,” he says. “Post-op nausea.”

“You look terrible,” Bob says. “D’you want to go to bed again? What can I do? Can I get you anything? I can go to the shop.”

“Yes, I do feel like a sleep, but I don’t need anything else. Come nap with me?”

There’s nothing Bob would rather do. 

Dave goes into the bedroom and sits on the bed. “I feel really useless,” he says, “Do you mind? I’m sure I’ll get the hang of things soon.”

“Do I mind what? Helping you? Of course not, don’t be daft. You have to stop saying that.”

He crouches down and takes off Dave’s trainers and socks, reaches up to undo his jeans. Doing it squeezes his chest in a different way than normal. He fetches sleep shorts and a t-shirt. 

“Not sure how to get a t-shirt on, love,” says Dave. “You’ll keep me warm.” He stands up and pushes his jeans down, steps out of them and tugs the duvet down.

Bob almost trips over his own jeans, getting out of them. He pulls his t-shirt over his head and goes up behind Dave, slipping his arms round his waist, laying his cheek against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his bare skin against his chest. “I’m so glad you’re back home,” he says.

“Me too,” says Dave. He doesn’t say: Don’t be silly, Bob, it was only one night. “Let’s go to bed,” he says, and gives Bob’s hand a squeeze. 

Bob lies down next to him, his head on his shoulder and Dave’s left arm round him, his hand cradling his skull. “The bed felt too big, last night,” he says. Then, because that sounds so soppy, he adds: “Butch kept stealing the covers, though.”

Dave laughs. “The bed in hospital felt too small. And they don’t let you sleep properly.” He yawns. “I’m still a bit woozy from the anaesthetic, I think.”

Bob isn’t tired, really, but Dave’s heartbeat is a steady pulse under his ear, and he only wakes up when the room is dark. Dave’s still asleep, so he slips out of bed quietly and pulls his clothes back on. Butch gets out of his bed and follows Bob down the stairs and stands by the front door. “Sure, mate,” says Bob, clipping on his lead.

He makes tea after and takes the mugs upstairs. Dave wakes up when he puts his on the bedside table. “Thanks, love, I’m dying for a cuppa,” he says.

“How do you feel? Do you still feel sick?”

“I don’t think so.” He sits up and Bob pulls a pillow up behind him and gets back on the bed next to him and they sit and drink tea.

Bob remembers what he thought of earlier. “I was going to make scones for you. Like One Two’s mum taught me. I never have.”

“I remember you telling me.” Dave smiles.

“You remember? It was so long ago.”

“It was, but of course I do. You can make them tomorrow. I’d like that.”

“I bought jam as well,” says Bob.

Dave winces when he leans over to put his mug down.

“Do you need another painkiller?”

“Not yet. I would really like a wash, though. Got to keep the bandage dry, of course.”

“You can rest your arm on the side of the bath and let me wash you,” says Bob. “If you like,” he adds. He wants to, but he’s not sure Dave wants him to. 

“Alright. Thank you, love. I’m sure I’ll be able to get by soon. I feel too wobbly today, though.”

“You know you don’t have to, get by on your own, I mean? I’m here, you can let me help. I want to.”

“Thank you. I know you want to. If this had happened before, I’d have had to cope on my own. I’m glad I don’t have to.” Dave turns to him and he leans in and they kiss. It’s a bit of an awkward angle, but that doesn’t matter. 

In the bathroom, waiting for the bath to fill, Dave looks at himself in the mirror and rubs his hand across the stubble on his jaw. “I’m either going to have to grow a beard or get you to shave me,” he says.

Bob can’t decide which he’d prefer.

Dave gets in the bath and lays his bandaged arm along the edge and Bob picks up a flannel and the soap and starts to wash him: his chest and back, under his arms, his thighs, behind his knees, his feet. He leans across and carefully washes Dave’s right hand where it’s sticking out of the bandage. Neither of them says anything, and it’s weird — he sees Dave naked all the time, he touches him all the time, but this feels different. It’s not sex, it’s everything else. It’s taking care.

And then it is too much not to say it. “I love you so much,” he says. “I know I don’t say it often.”

“You’re very good at telling me without saying anything, love.”

“Well, you’re good at hearing.”

“And you do say it. You have been saying it.”

He rushes on. “When you said you were hurt, and I didn’t know how badly …” His eyes are pricking. Dave puts his hand on the back of Bob’s head, and rubs his thumb in a circle on his neck. “It was awful, Dave.”

“I know, love. I’m okay though, really. The surgeon said I’ll be fine. No lasting effects.”

Bob leans forward and kisses Dave. Hard. Thank god it’s just a broken arm. He doesn’t know how they’d cope with anything worse.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure the British National Health Service actually would pin Dave's elbow, but that's what happened to me when I suffered the same stupid injury. And it did bloody hurt when the radiographer straightened it!


End file.
